


Carved Into the Spaces of My Mind

by DisasterLesbean



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamione Cult Discord Game, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, journalist!Hermione, survivor!bellatrix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 13:47:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterLesbean/pseuds/DisasterLesbean
Summary: It isn’t the first time people have disappeared at Boggart.





	Carved Into the Spaces of My Mind

She doesn’t want to come to Boggart. The string of disappearances attracts a lot of media attention and they flock to the small city. That’s why her boss sends her. 

McGonagall has been running Hogwarts Times for many years now and has remained amongst the top media companies despite its smaller size. She’s smart and knows where to send her people for the best story. She is as ethical as a person in charge of news can be. She knows the story at Boggart is one for the decade and sends Hermione. 

It isn’t the first time people have disappeared at Boggart. 

It’s been twenty years since the last disappearance. There’s no evidence after the first time. No corpses, no clues, no resolution. The media had gone crazy then as well. Hermione wasn’t a journalist then. She is now. She doesn’t want to go to a small town where people disappear but it’s her job. She was a journalist in a warzone, she can handle this. At least she hopes she can.

“Boss, you think McGonagall sent you because she couldn’t break the story last time?” McGonagall had come here the first time. She hadn’t spoken of it. She didn’t tell Hermione. She wonders how Tonks knows but figures it’s a given. Tonks knows everything.

“Possibly, not sure what we’re expecting. There’s more media here than anywhere in the country. There’s too many. At this point we’ll be scrounging for anything the others haven’t printed three times over.” She wonders if McGonagall being here has to do with the hesitance to send her. Did she think Hermione couldn’t handle the story? Does she doubt her ability as a journalist?

“Wanna check out the survivor?” No corpses. No clues. No resolution. Except the young teenager who returned after disappearing. She was the only one to come back. During the first occurence, she was the third taken. The police and locals questioned her relentlessly, the media questioned her. She had no answers. She was a traumatized teenager then. Some speculate that she can’t remember, some say she’s lying for attention. 

Hermione’s watched the footage, seen the shadows in Bellatrix Black’s eyes, she doesn’t wonder. She’s seen enough haunted people to know what the truth looks like. It’s bared in her closed off eyes, screaming from her silence. She knows Bellatrix is telling the truth.

Bellatrix lives in a neighborhood. She hadn’t expected this.

America doesn’t have royalty, not in name. James Dean and Marilyn Monroe could be hailed as royalty. The Spielbergs and Camerons of the world. American royalty is Hollywood. It wasn’t always. Royalty runs deeper south. 

The Blacks are old blood. They’re amongst the first English to immigrate into America. They’ve established businesses that became enterprises. Everyone knows their name and they are revered in the South. They’ve built a legacy. 

All Blacks were respected until Bellatrix’s disappearance. 

Her research points to the community shunning Bellatrix. They don’t know the culprit or what happened to their people so they blame the one who came back. They blame her because she came back and the others didn’t, because she won’t say what happened. Hermione isn’t sure why she would remain in the community that damns her but here she lives, the heart of suburbia.

There’s news vans and reporters at her house but they’re all relaxed. They’ve been here since the disappearances started again and haven’t seen a whisper of Bellatrix. She’s walking past the idling reporters and towards the house that blends into the others. It’s unassuming. No one would know the only survivor in Boggart lives here on face value. 

Green eyes are tracking her. An older woman is staring at Hermione from her yard. She doesn’t look away when Hermione meets her gaze as most would. The hose in her hand is still spraying but with no goal. Does the woman even know she is holding the hose? Hermione starts walking towards the woman. She might be able to tell Hermione something. 

As soon as she moves in the woman’s direction, the woman moves. She walks backwards, eyes still trained on Hermione. It makes her skin crawl. The hose is left on the yard, spraying haphazardly. Hermione has to pass through it to follow the woman. The woman goes behind her hedge, her green eyes sending a message Hermione can’t understand. The eyes are the last thing she sees before she’s behind the hedge. Hermione’s jeans get wet but she walks through the spray, towards the hedge. She turns into a wall. There isn’t anything behind the hedge, no where for the woman to hide. 

“You okay?” Tonks is asking.

“Of course.” She doesn’t know where the woman went, where she could have hid. 

“Let’s go get Black to talk to us.” Tonks is fiddling with her camera, not looking around. Hermione is. They’re all looking at them. At her. 

The children in the street, the man checking his mail, even the dog near Bellatrix’s house are still as stone. They’re all looking at them. 

“Tonks, why are they staring at us?” Anxiety creeps up, making her worried.

“What do you mean? No one’s looking our way. The kids can’t even make a goal I think they have bigger concerns.”

Hermione wants to argue. She’s looking at the kids and they’re looking back. It’s unsettling. They resemble drones. Blank slates just watching her. She pushes forward, eager to get off the street.

She crosses the street and walks towards Bellatrix’s door, knocking only to receive no reply. 

“Miss Black? I’m Hermione from Hogwarts Times. I have a few questions if I could get a moment of your time?” No verbal reply but she hears wood creak. Bellatrix, or someone, is listening at the least. She looks back to see if Tonks realizes the same and nearly shouts. The children are behind her now. The man further back but too close. The dog is at her feet. They don’t move towards her. They don’t talk. 

“You good?” Tonks is worrying her lip.

“Yeah. Miss Black, I know you don’t want to talk about what happened. I would just like your thoughts on what’s happening now and whether it’s connected.” More silence, it seems like the others Bellatrix won’t be seeing them. Hermione is too afraid to turn around, to knock again. She isn’t sure what’s happening but she doesn’t want to turn her back to these kids. She isn’t sure what will happen if she does.

“Granger, we should just go. Follow a different lead.” The door is jerked open and Hermione is pulled inside. The door shuts just as quickly leaving Tonks outside. 

“Granger?” A woman, Bellatrix Black, has her jacket in her fist. She’s holding Hermione against the door with a wild look in her eyes.

“That’s me. Hermione Granger of Hogwarts Times.” 

“What do you want?”

“To ask some questions.”

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Hermione didn’t want to be here anymore than Bella this wanted her here. 

“Why?” 

“People die here.” 

“So the missing are dead?” Bellatrix has never spoken a word about it and she lunges at the opportunity for more information. 

“Everyone in Boggart is dead. It hardly matters if they’re missing.” 

“Why did you let me in? No one has been able to speak with you.” The house is evidence of her hiding. Dishes and trash litter the living room in her sight and there’s a sour smell.

“We’re all capable of atrocities Granger.” It doesn’t make sense to Hermione. The words are a mystery. Bellatrix looks tired, sad, like she’s lived a life of little joy. She wonders if Bellatrix has anyone. The community mostly shunned her as did her family. She hopes there’s someone, someone who hasn’t abandoned this woman. She escaped, she survived, and she’s been damned for it. 

Her hand is settled on Bellatrix’s cheek before she has time to consider the action. It feels right. She isn’t averse to touch but rarely initiates it herself. Bellatrix’s face is angular, her bones stand out defined. It’s worn with stress lines and the occasional wrinkle. Bellatrix’s eyes are as dark as her name. Almost inhumanly so. They’re so dark they could glow. She could get lost in that infinite dark, falling in the deep space for an eternity with nothing to hold onto and dwindling oxygen.

Bellatrix’s hand covers her. It’s soft, few to no calluses. A lifetime of hiding for the past plagues her mind but her hands remain smooth. “What’s happening her?” Here, with Bellatrix so close. Here, with the list of disappeared growing.

“A tragedy.” She sounds sad. It must be trying to be forced to relive trauma. All these reporters and journalists poking and yelling at her, trying to pry Bellatrix’s past open with rusty knives and poor intentions. 

“I’m sorry.” She’s sorry she came here with her own poor intentions. She’s sorry it had happened to her. She’s sorry it’s happening again.

The door rattles with the bangs, heavy fists pounding. Bellatrix swallows whatever she is about to say, the moment over. It doesn’t shatter. They don’t jerk apart and act as if it didn’t happen. They part slowly but surely. It’s not over, they’ll revisit this. It unsettles Hermione how easily they’re interacting. How at peace she feels with a woman she only just met. A woman who doesn’t voluntarily talk to anyone. The only other person she’s ever felt this comfortable with this quick is McGonagall. She’s grown into closeness with Tonks but it wasn’t instantaneous. Not like now.

“Bella, please open the door!” A panicked woman’s voice comes from the other side. Bellatrix’s eyes harden. Liquid warm iron solidifying once more. She opens the door, an arm around Hermione’s shoulder. Bellatrix’s hand presses into her chest. Hermione’s heart beats quickly, a continuing thud against Bellatrix’s palm. She doesn't ask why Bellatrix won’t break contact completely. She knows the other woman is afraid to. She doesn’t ask why. 

“Cissa what’s the matter?” Bellatrix is ready for whatever is to come but she’s kind towards Cissa. Her countenance one of soft familiarity. She’s looking at the person who cares for Bellatrix, possibly the only. 

The kids aren’t behind Cissa. They’re playing on the street again. Hermione’s body tingles uncomfortably, her stomach feeling raw. Something isn’t right. The children, the street, this whole town is rotting. Tonks gives her a two finger salute. She’s moved away from the door and is scrolling through her phone. She’s tapping her foot, likely anxious but unwilling to smoke with children nearby. 

“Draco is missing.” Cissa voice is wet and broken. Bellatrix tugs her in as reporters start swarming. Possibly at Bellatrix’s appearance or because they got news of Draco’s disappearance.Bellatrix holds Cissa together as her shoulders shake in silent despair. 

“Can we help Draco?” She doesn’t know why she’s including herself. She’s never been able to refuse help but this is something more. It feels as if she must help. 

“There’s no helping him now. It’s up to him.” Bellatrix says receiving a cutting look from Cissa. 

“I have understood you not speaking of it. I have supported you. You cannot abandon my son.” Cissa’s angry and desperate. “He’s your nephew. There’s no time to hide from the past with his life on the line.”

“I would save him if I could. That’s not how this goes.” Bellatrix tries to comfort Cissa but she’s angry as well. 

“I don’t care how it’s supposed to go! I can’t lose my son.” Hermione feels as if she’s witnessing something she shouldn’t be. 

“I have to go.” She needs them to have privacy for this conversation. She wants to stay, she wants to be near Bellatrix. She knows Cissa needs to fall apart and she won’t do that in front of a stranger. 

“Come see me again?” Bellatrix holds her gaze as Hermione dips her head in agreement. 

She leaves the house and walks into a crowd of reporters. Lights assault her and the crows shouts questions at her. Tonks cuts through them and tugs her through the crowd and towards the car.

“I know we’re media too but what a bunch of dicks.” Tonks complains as she puts her seatbelt on. 

“You heard about Draco?” 

“Most recent missing. Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy’s son, Bellatrix Black’s nephew.”

“That can’t be a coincidence.” 

“Good thing we don’t believe in coincidences.” 

“Where are we going?” Tonks has wordlessly started driving after she got her seatbelt clipped. 

“Nowhere.” 

“Have you heard from McGonagall?”

“Nah, not since she sent us. Pansy sent some information on Draco though.” 

“How is Pansy?” The teasing makes Tonks blush. Tonks plays it cool but she blushes brighter than anyone else Hermione’s met. 

“She’s fine.” Clipped and embarrassed, it makes Hermione laugh.

“Seriously, where are you taking us? If you’re taking me for more diner food I’ll light your hair on fire.” Tonks shoots her a worried look.

“‘Mione, we aren’t going anywhere.”

Hermione tries not to be annoyed at Tonks’ antics. Tonks likes to mess around but sometimes Hermione just wants answers. “I’m being serious, I just want to go back to the hotel and look things over.”

“Hermione, I’m being dead serious. I’m not driving. We’re not going anywhere.” Tonks is speaking slowly, worried and afraid. Hermione looks around the car and sees the landscape passing by. She turns back to Tonks, hoping for her to say it’s a joke. It isn’t. Her face isn’t changing, there’s no tell tale grin or laugh. She’s just worried and scared.

“What the fuck is happening?”

“I don’t know man! You’re the one who keeps tripping out. What are you seeing?”

Nothing, they’re in the street again. The scenery is still. She’s back. She doesn’t know where she went, or if it came to her, she doesn’t know what’s happening. It’s something about this place, something is unnatural here. “I’m not seeing it any more.”

“Well what did you see?”

“You were driving, I don’t know where to.”

“Lead me where I went before you snapped back.”

“You believe me?”

“Nah, just got an hour before happy hour.”

She leads Tonks out of the neighborhood and along the road. The windows are down and the warm breeze fills the cabin of the truck. The neighborhoods break off, houses becoming more sparse until they’re surrounded by trees. “I lost it around here.” 

“We’re near the old dock.” Tonks knows everything. 

“What’s important about the dock?” 

“The last victim during the first disappearances went missing around here.” 

“Do you know where it is?” 

“Of course.” Tonks gets out of the truck and shuts the door, pulling her pants up and squinting behind the sunglasses. It was a hot afternoon and the air was humid, a sheen line of moisture already coating their skin. She follows Tonks who checks her phone for a direction, neither of them navigationally inclined. She shoots off a text, Hermione assumes it’s to Pansy. Pansy likes to know where Tonks is at all times, leftover hang ups from a bad ex. Tonks doesn’t mind that level of communication. Whenever she goes somewhere new she sends Pansy a text so she won’t worry. It was cute, considering Hermione and Pansy only recently started getting along.

Tonks stops with a gross look on her face. “I am not going in there.” The dirt has turned to thick mud up ahead. Hermione isn’t sure how deep it is but knows it’s going to be gross and possibly unsafe. The bugs are loud around here, louder than Hermione is used to in her urban life. 

“Is the dock past here?”

“Yeah, they stopped upkeep when the kid got taken. It slowly got overtaken by the wilds.” 

“What was the kids’ name?”

“Ariana.”

“Poor kid.” Hermione puts her foot into the mud tentatively. It’s deep but not too deep. She had bounced between taking off her shoes or not and in the end decided not to. She’s going to ruin them but in the end it’s safest. She doesn’t know what lay beneath.

“I’m not following.” 

“Come on Dora the explorer.” Tonk’s boot hits her in the back of the head. “Ow.”

“I told you that in confidence.” Tonks grumbles but follows after her, she elects to leave her boots behind. “It squished between my toes.”

“You took your boots off.” 

“They’re my nicest boots.” 

Tonks follows her in and takes the lead towards the dock. She looks nervous, eyes jumping around the tall trees surrounding them. The mud gets deeper and Hermione worries about disease. She hasn’t read up on mud but disease seems likely. It sure doesn’t seem clean.

“So you been hallucinating long?” Tonks asks it casually but her tense frame isn’t reassuring.

“Since we got here.”

“You think it’s just the heat?” It’s hopeful.

“Maybe.” It’s a lie.

It’s not the heat. It’s this place.

Hermione sees the dock as Tonks does. It’s broken off in the middle of the mud, most of it buried but some tilted above the surface. Tonks drags herself onto it. The sun’s setting now and they’re both out of breath. Marching through thick mud was exhausting especially with the heat. “Heads up.” Tonks tosses a water bottle her way. Ever prepared. Hermione might be the one who gets the glory, who’s remembered for her work at war, but Tonks was her invisible partner. She tries to get her to move to a primary position but Tonks waves it off, happy where she is. She tries to get her recognized still for her efforts but no one listens. 

“This is where Ariana went missing.” Hermione looks around and doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It’s becoming darker, the mud remains still with no obvious evidence, the dock is unassuming, even the trees aren’t unique. 

“Shit, it’s gonna be dark before we get back.” Tonks starts pulling two flashlights out of her backpack. She hands one to Hermione and keeps the other for herself. 

“What are we supposed to find?”

“I don’t know. You find the stories I just bring the flashlights.” Hermione stands up and looks around, the marsh is becoming harder to see. Without nearby city lights the dark rests heavier. She isn’t sure what she expects to find. A corpse? A trailer that screams kidnapper? No, there isn’t anything. Nothing but a broken dock no one wants to remember. 

“Fuckssake.” Tonks is spitting insults at her flashlight, smacking it against her hand. “My flashlight isn’t working.” 

“Have you changed the batteries?” 

“Yeah, three times. Try yours.” Hermione slides her thumb over the switch and it doesn’t emit any light. Tonks pulls out her phone, intending to use that as a flashlight. “It’s charged.” She mutters to herself trying to turn her phone on.

“Tonks.” 

“I know, this is a mess.” 

“No, Tonks. We need to go.” Fear is working its way through her body. Her heart is racing and she’s ready to flee. She’s ready to tear through this mud at an olympic pace. 

“It’s not the best place to be but we’re fine Granger.”

“Then where’d the bugs go?”

Silence, complete silence surrounds them. The cacophony of insects chirping has gone silent and the dark has crept in. She was led here. She thought it was a clue, a lead, she was wrong. She was so wrong. They shouldn’t have come here. This city is a rotting limb, infected and in need of being severed but this is the site of the wound. This is where the infection radiates from. She can feel the disease pumping in the air around them. The fluid filled lungs sticking to their feet.

“We should get going.” Tonks’ sunglasses are out of sight, her piercing eyes crinkled. Fear, she understands. Something’s not right. She’s taking emergency flares out of her backpack and she hands half the stack to Hermione. She cracks one and it lights up red. She tosses it onto the mud and it sticks to the hard surface. She drops back down into the mud and nods to Hermione who follows suit. 

Tonks periodically drops more flares on their way out. Hermione follows, waiting to use hers for when Tonks runs out. The air is still hot, they’re still sweating, but it’s forgotten to the fear. The soreness in their legs secondary to their need to leave this place. “Pansy is gonna kill me.” Tonks’ voice shakes and Hermione tries not letting it get to her. Tonks’ voice rarely shook even when they were getting shot at. 

Tonks stops abruptly, her eyes caught on something in the trees. On something not on their path back to the car. She looks but she doesn’t see anything. She doesn’t see whatever Tonks is seeing. Is this what she looked like? With the kids? In the car? It’s terrifying seeing her friend so far away. “Tonks, there isn’t anything there. We need to keep moving.” Tonks nods but her eyes are caught, she’s in a different place. Hermione grabs Tonks’ wrist and tugs her along, unwilling to stay any longer. Tonks follows but she’s distracted. It’s getting darker, further away from the last flare. She takes her hand back and cracks the next flare, dropping it next to her and reaching back to tug Tonks forward again. Tonks doesn’t grab back. Hermione turns to find Tonk gone.

“Tonks!” There’s no reply. She turns in circles, hoping for a sign of the other woman. She’s no where. She could head back to the car, back to the dock, or she could go to the trees. Her phone doesn’t work so she wouldn’t be able to reach Tonks or the police. What if Tonks is the next to disappear? It would be her fault. She’s the journalist here. She’s the one Tonks trusts. She led them here on some deranged delusion. 

She tracks back through the flare towards the trees. The marsh is red. The flares carrying across the wind. She cracks more as she walks towards where Tonks had gone. There’s no one there. The location is empty. She cracks another flare, running low now, and moves it around searching for a clue. Some hint to where her friend might have gone. The mud is hard until the surface is broken. It doesn’t look wet. It shouldn’t. So why is it wet? Her fingers come away red and her heart pounds. She wants it to be the light, the red of the flare making it look red. She wants it to be water.

It doesn’t taste like water.

She gags and has to close her eyes. 

She opens and sees the track of blood leading off to the left. She hears a crack to her right. She snaps her head in that direction and sees a leg disappear behind a tree. She follows the person.

They keep out of her sight, leading her further into the marsh. She stops when she has one flare left. She didn’t expect to burn through them all so quick. She needs to find Tonks. They don’t have any light to get back to the car now. They’d have to wait it out. She uses the last flare to follow the person once more. She sees broad shoulders tuck into a cave.

She shouldn’t follow. She shouldn’t. It’s not smart to. She should turn around. The mouth of the cave is wet. It’s wet and she knows why. Tonks rests in the mouth of the beast and she’s the only one here. The only one who could help. She follows. 

The cave has teeth. Bristles and thorns she has to manage through. The cave wants to chew her up but she bites back. Ripping and tearing until she’s inside. There’s a flashlight on the floor, the light working. It pointed away from her, towards a wall. She reaches for it, sticky substance coating it. It’s Tonks’ flashlight. Likely her blood. She stands up and shines the light on the surrounding cave. It’s small, barely larger than a room. The walls are carved and painted. A tapestry of incomprehensible imagery. Images and words blurring together. Different languages and different art forms. She circles shining her light on the wall when she sees she’s not alone in the cave. The figure she’d been chasing. 

Her breath catches at the familiar sight. How many mornings had she woken up to that back, that neck? How many times had she hugged him from behind, wrapping him tight? So many times, until she couldn’t. Until he was buried and she remained. 

“Victor?” His hand is around her throat before she see him turn, she drops the flashlight. It shines on their boots as he knocks her over. Her head bashes into the wall with a thump, her scalp shredding against rough rock. His weight is heavy on top of her but she kicks and squirms. She’s free and crawling away, towards the light. He steps on it, the flashlight crunching and the light going out. They’re in the dark. She hears his heavy steps drag and shift towards her. She shuffles away, towards the mouth of the cave. 

She expects the thistles and branches, not the wetness.

Slick wet softness. It’s not right. The air’s cold and stale, not the warm humidity it was before the flashlight went out. She crawls further away but she no longer hears Not-Victor’s foot tread. Her hands no longer meet stone and dirt. It’s that wet softness and cold steel. She see a light on the wall up ahead.

She stumbles to her feet, stumbling over to it. The light is obscured and yellowed. Something covering it. It’s wet, soft. The same as the floor and walls. It has red lines running through it. She digs her fingers into it, tearing the substance away from the light. It pulls apart like skin tears away from meat. The light becomes brighter.

Mud and blood. 

Flesh and metal. 

Screams and blackness.


End file.
